Listen Up
Last Tuesday my Flow student Anico told me about a magical encounter she had here in Kalk Bay, when a young fisherman sat next to her on the harbour wall and said out of the blue: "The Sea is like a woman, once a month she pushes out a red tide." Then he disappeared and returned with a bite sized chocolate as a gift for her before sailing off to catch some fish.
She and I spoke about these serendipitous interactions and about how they require an openness in oneself, so they tend to happen more frequently in our youth and as we get more walled in by what we think we know about others and the world they inhabit, less and less so. We felt that it was only natural for us to become more suspicious over time, but that this is a great pity, as we miss out on so many sublime messages.
The next night I went with my family to feed the homeless for Mandela Day. The reason we did this, of all service projects, was because I had met a local homeless man at a writer's circle in our valley some months ago. While I never returned to the writer's group, I was particularly impressed by the courage of this man...to show up and share his dream of writing his story. He told us that he was living at the local library.
I volunteered with Ladles of Love in Cape Town and felt out the possibility of starting something in our valley. The thing that really moved me was how much these people had lived and how very much they needed someone to listen to their stories. Yes, they were grateful for some soup and there were some specific needs around clothing, work, etc but really what felt most satisfying to them, and to me, was the conversation.
My Facebook feed offered up the following gem by the incredible Chimamanda Ngozie Adichie
Literally every single interaction I had this week brought home the need we have as humans to connect.
As I soldier away at my third book, which is really an inappropriate image as the book seems to be writing itself and the process is an absolute pleasure, it begins to feel that "reality" is less real to me than the world of my creation.
Then I step away and encounter others.
Yesterday I happened upon one of my former students and her mother. We had such a delightful conversation that spanned anecdotes of our shared history, the latest news and dreams of our future. It was heartwarming to realise that past endeavours live on in often unexpected ways. It was exciting to see that others resonate with this need to really talk and really listen.
I needed to stretch my legs after several hours writing from my hubby's rather fabulous office in Kalk Bay this morning. My walk took me up some stairs I'd never seen before and along a very quiet cobbled street. A rather alarming figure accosted me. He was large, wearing boxer shorts and a slightly grubby, green, button down shirt.
Some context before I continue -- I grew up in a country that was in a political State of Emergency. I saw a bomb go off in someone's hands when I was 12 years old and waiting to go in to a movie with my girlfriend on a Friday night. Thanks to this marvel, the Information Age, I could look it up and prove to myself that I actually lived that -- his name was Odirile Maponya and he is now recorded as one of the many who sacrificed their lives to free our country. At the time I was told and sort of believed that he was a terrorist. Besides, I and my dear friend nearly lost our lives that night.
I was raised to be wary and even afraid of the world at large, particularly that half of the population with a Y chromosome. One of my absolute favourite podcasts is The Moth, where people tell their stories (ha ha, exactly). I was listening to one as a bedtime story just last night and it's an absolutely remarkable and beautifully told story...about rape.
So as this large man who exudes something I can only describe as 'off' closes in on me, my thought is, "I forgot my pepper spray."
"I was trying to get your attention," he says and then proceeds to engage with me in what I can only describe as one of the most heartwarming conversations I've ever had. One that I will never forget.
After an hour, as I made my way back to this here desk, the ear pictured at the top of the post jumped out at me.
I see now that it's illustrating the idiom 'even the walls have ears', but what I saw then was a clear call to LISTEN...as an entrance...to what?
To connection. Truth. Our own Humanity. Meaning. Basically everything we're looking for or feel that we're lacking.
Let me just close with the fact that the ear is on this street corner...
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